The Domain of Creation.
In this domain, creation is not benevolent.It is authoritarian.Existence is not born here: it is dictated.
Order does not organize reality; it shackles it. Every atom, every law, every possibility is nailed into place by a perfection so absolute that it allows no deviation. There is no error. There is no chance. There is no rebellion.
Balance is not maintained: it watches.
In the infinite vastness of the Domain, nameless planets rotate in unnatural silence. Stars burn without emitting light. Constellations rewrite themselves. Galaxies collapse and are reborn in patterns no mind can endure. Universes, multiverses, dimensions, and strata beyond all logic sprout like open wounds in nothingness.
Dreams, desires, fears, thoughts, narratives, concepts… even primordial concepts manifest and are destroyed at the same time, forced to exist under the sovereign will of the Domain. Here, matter and antimatter do not collide: they obey. Space folds by reflex. Time advances, rewinds, and repeats because it was decreed so. Space-time does not flow: it beats, like a captive heart.
Creation reproduces infinitely, yet never escapes itself. It evolves, yes, but only within permitted limits. Everything is born, everything exists, and everything changes… without ever breaking the cycle.
The stability of this place is suffocating.A perfect harmony, so flawless it becomes hostile.
Infinite mirrors float suspended in nothingness. They do not reflect light; they reflect destinies. Each one displays the branches of lower domains, alternate lines, aborted possibilities, condemned futures. They are not passive observers: they record. They judge. They archive.
The law of creation is not a rule.It is a sentence.
The entire Domain persists under a mute cosmic will, a presence that neither announces nor explains itself. It only permits or denies. And when it denies… nothing remains.
Alcanor: The explanation is unnecessary… —he exhales slowly, observing all the mirrors at once— There are no other anomalies. There are no other Valkers. Each confirmation reminds me why my omniscience fails… just as Anomaly told me.
He extends his hand. Reality yields.
Perspective fractures and spirals downward until it reaches one of the infinite leaves of one of the infinite trees of the Creator's Forest. A leaf within another leaf. And within another. And another. Each layer contains infinite dimensions. In all of them, the Three Moons watch:The Blue.The Yellow.The Red.
One dimension is selected.
We descend directly toward the Red Moon, tearing through its layers like ripped fabric, until the exact moment when Null, Azrael, and Nevaeh emerge from Purgatory. The transition is violent. Unnatural. Forced by the system inscribed upon the leaf of the Creator's Forest.
Purgatory is in a regenerative state. Every concept and its infinite dimensions were split in two by Anomaly and are now held together only by a chain of Alcanor. Fate spits them out into the Upper Hell, the third layer of the Red Moon.
Alcanor (Narrator): We return to the narrative.
Alcanor dissolves.He leaves no presence.He leaves no trace.He does not even leave absence.
(Sigh) Let us continue.
Null, Azrael, and Nevaeh lie on the ground. Unconscious. Empty. Purgatory did not break them… it consumed them. The layer jump finished draining them.
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The sound comes from nowhere.Reality ripples. Space-time warps like a poorly sealed wound. A rift opens, and from it bursts a wave of absolute void, attempting to devour the Upper Hell.
Before it succeeds… it is suppressed.Forced. Folded back. Returned to the crack as if it never had the right to exist.Then, a hand emerges.Around it, time and space fracture. Die. Are reborn. Repeat. All at once.
The figure steps through the portal.It is Death.It radiates no hostility.It radiates no hatred.It radiates finality.
It observes the surroundings. Then the trio. Its eyes fix on Null. They do not blink.
Death: Valker. —it swings the scythe and rests it on its shoulder— You're late.
The blade brushes Null's neck. The air freezes. Null barely opens his eyes and finds himself face to face with that which does not negotiate.
Null: …what…? —he tries to move—
The dimension tears. An infinite loop forms. Every attempt to escape returns him to the same point. Instant. Relentless.
Death: Do not fight. Do not run. Do not insist. —it raises the scythe— Your fate has already been written.
Null: WHY?! WHO ARE YOU?!
Death: I am not someone.I am when there is no one left.
The scythe descends. The loop splits in two. Total reality fractures for an eternal heartbeat. Null is divided… but does not die. His body glitches. Existence fails to process him.
Death:(narrowing its eyes) This should not be possible.
The glitch expands, reconstructs Null, and lunges toward it. Death cuts the errors, but they transform into aggressive polygons, trying to ensnare it. Without moving… it is already behind Null.
Death: Surrender. —the scythe brushes his head—
Null: I'm not attacking you!
Anomaly (from the subconscious): What a delicious scene… Death itself. (laughs) Let's see if you survive this, Null.
The glitches retreat back inside Null. He swallows hard. Death's presence is not cruel. Not evil. It is correct. That is what makes it terrifying.
Null: Tell me… —he takes a deep breath— why do I have to die?
Death: Because you already did.And yet you continued to exist.
Null: I don't know what happened to me, I only know I died in an accident —he remembers the glitch from that time, in that void— I… woke up in a forest.
Death tenses.
Death: A forest…?
It needs no more. Silence.
Death: Enough. —it withdraws the scythe— If you are still here… it is because He allowed it.And I do not contradict what He authorizes.
Null:(relieved sigh) Alcanor…?
Death nods. Its form dissolves into pure essence. It leaves no mark. It leaves no memory. As if it had never been there.
Null collapses to the ground.Fear fades.Exhaustion wins.And he sleeps.